


The Vortex

by pretty_pendragon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stranger Things Fusion, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blizzards & Snowstorms, But it has chapters lol, Endgame Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, No Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer, OR IS THERE, One Shot, Snow, Spooky, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretty_pendragon/pseuds/pretty_pendragon
Summary: Winter, 1985. It's snowing, nighttime growing closer, and Billy and Steve end up exploring an abandoned house on the edge of Hawkins, never expecting what they might find.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Kudos: 12





	The Vortex

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt "Person A and Person B going to explore an abandoned house on the edge of town" from prompt generator https://prompts.neocities.org/. Also, I did some research on the weather in the US (and Indiana) during the winter of 1985, and this the website I used: https://www.weather.gov/ilm/January1985cold .

The dead of winter months struck Hawkins, Indiana bitterly, as the frosty leaves had flown away long ago, and the frost quickly gave way to deep freeze. The trees looked black and dead against the ever-grey sky, and the earth was so solidly frozen that cracks could be seen in the dirt next to long-gone patches of tanned grass.

It was a slow progression from November to December, but as January neared, the cold set into the bones of the town and its inhabitants, who braced for a painful couple of months before spring came creeping back, timid in the face of winter’s brutality.

The townspeople of Hawkins held fast in their homes for the first weeks of January, huddling close to their radiators as temperatures dropped below zero. Those who could afford it were lucky enough to exist comfortably with their central air systems, heating their houses thoroughly to protect from the cold.

It was such that Hawkins had a mix of peoples that made up its thirty thousand strong population. Yet despite this number, Hawkins was through and through a small town, a town of mom-and-pop restaurants, convenience stores, and autobody shops. A town of little record shops and video rental stores, bike repair shops, cozy hair and nail salons, and a long-standing local newspaper. It was a town small enough where everyone knew somebody who knew another somebody, despite the spectrum of wealth that had, at its extremes, families who lived only one paycheck from poverty, and families who could leave town on vacations for weeks on end, multiple times a year.

Yet this particular January left the people of Hawkins stuck in their homes, as the whole U.S. came under the frigid blanket of the polar vortex of 1985. Record-lows were being broken across the country, and there were even reports of lovely, humid Florida plagued with frost, destroying what was likely millions of dollars of citrus crops. So, in this unprecedented winter, there were few things to do without risking frostbite, even in daytime, when temperatures dwindled in the single digits.

Students wore more layers than ever before as they hurried into their schools, whose electric bills were hundreds of dollars above average in attempts to keep the cold out. Chains adorned most people’s tires or were kept in trunks in the case of sudden snowfall, which quickly froze roads due to the icy winds and temperatures.

The only person who refused to chain his tires was, of course, former California boy Billy Hargrove.

The school bell rang one Friday afternoon at 2:45pm, and students inwardly groaned as they prepared to bundle up and either walk swiftly to their cars, or sprint to their rides waiting outside for them.

Billy Hargrove slammed his Calculus textbook shut and thanked God or Whoever that Math class was over. He had finished the work his teacher had assigned for students to do in-class, and he had been staring blankly at his textbook for the last 20 minutes. Slinging his mostly-empty bookbag over his shoulder, he sauntered out of the room. 

In the hallway, everyone was switching out their books or donning their scarves and hats. Billy’s eyes scanned the other students as he made his way toward his locker. He stopped, for only several lockers down from his was Steve Harrington, leaning into his locker, perhaps looking for something.

Billy walked up to Steve’s locker, and slammed a hand down on the open door, pinning it to its neighbor.

“Harrington,” Billy greeted cheerfully.

Billy heard an audible sigh from inside the locker.

“Yes, Billy?” Steve said tiredly, leaning back from his search and examining what looked to be a very bent comb. “What do you want?”

Billy scoffed. “Don’t act like I’m a bother, Harrington.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he deadpanned, thumbing along the plastic bristles of his comb. “What’s up?” he asked, turning to the mirror he had duct-taped to his locker door, the one Billy still had his hand on.

Billy suppressed a smile. “Harrington, I was just wondering something,” he started.

Using his bent comb, Steve was fixing a few fly-aways back into place. “Uh-huh,” he acknowledged.

Billy leaned in toward Steve styling his hair in the mirror. “I was wondering when you decided to be such a pretty boy,” he said lowly.

Steve immediately looked over at Billy, his face embarrassed and flushed. “Wha—” he started, but Billy just laughed, and moseyed over to his locker a few doors down.

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington,” Billy called over, as Steve fumbled with some of his books, “I’m just messing with ‘ya. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Huffing in annoyance, Steve calmly closed his locker, set down his bookbag, and donned a puffy red ski jacket.

Billy raised an eyebrow and cracked a small smile, wondering if the prep would respond. Throwing his bookbag over his shoulder to the best of his ability, given the puffiness of his coat, Steve shot Billy an “over-it” look.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hargrove,” he responded plainly, and walked confidently down the hallway.

Smirking, Billy grabbed the couple of books he needed and headed out into the freezing cold.

As soon as he walked outside, Billy tried to not let himself get nervous. While he’d been in school, he hadn’t thought to look out the windows, and so he was very disconcerted to find a decent couple of inches of snow piled up outside. And it was still coming down.

“Fuck,” he muttered, clutching his wool, lined jean jacket closer to him. His biker boots softly crunched the fluffy snow underfoot as he approached his 1979 Chevy Camaro. Wiping off the door handle, he opened the door, threw his bag down, and started the car, putting the heat on full blast to match the music he always blared.

Billy stepped back out into the cold and slammed his door shut to keep the heat in. Examining his windshield, He had to clear some snow off before his fingers froze. Pulling his sleeve down past his fist, Billy wiped his driver’s side portion of the windshield so he can see, as well as the side mirrors.

Though it only took but two minutes, by the time Billy got in his car and shuddered at the sudden heat, he was pissed to find that his fingers were prickling as they thawed. _Maybe I should invest in some gloves_ , he thought. Revving his engine, Billy flipped on the windshield wipers to hopefully get the rest of the snow off. It worked to a degree, and he left them on to keep the thick snow flurries from clumping together on his windshield while he drove.

Slowly pulling out from his parking spot, Billy decided for once in his life he was going to have to follow the speed limit, and turned his Scorpions cassette down so he could focus.

As he drove down the school lane and past the school sign, he decided it might be best to take the flattest route home, not wanting to risk skidding off-road on any inclines or declines. Turning right onto the main road leading away from school, Billy resigned to keep his speed under the speed limit, as the snow was posing difficult to navigate. He sat upright in his seat in concentration, eyes fixed on the road, and he glanced often in his rearview mirror to make sure no one was going to rear-end his baby.

Billy passed the supermarket, the movie theater, and the barber shop before he turned left on the next major road that would eventually lead to a couple back roads he could take to get to his neighborhood. Following that for two slow, agonizing miles, Billy was happy to turn onto the back roads.

Which he found had even more snow than the main ones.

“Crap,” Billy muttered, rigid as he carefully drove.

Another half-mile and Billy knew he had to make a right turn onto the next back road, and prepared himself for it. Craning his neck, he saw no one was coming from the opposite direction, and began to slowly accelerate and turn his wheel to the right. But after a few seconds, his car began to rotate, and he let off the gas. The back of his car was pointing out into the road, susceptible to be hit.

“Shit!” Billy yelled, and tried to turn the wheel to the left and put his foot back on the gas.

Snow was clearly stuck under one of his tires, because Billy wasn’t making any backward progress. He turned to see if anyone was coming that could possibly hit him, and exhaled slightly when he found that there were still none. Laying off the gas, Billy flipped on his hazards, and tried to figure out what he should do next. But before he could do that, his car starting inching forward off the road.

“No, no no—” Billy pleaded frantically, “Don’t do this babe, come on—”.

He threw his car in reverse and tried to lightly tap the gas so he could inch backwards, away from the short drop that waited just off the side of the road.

Billy grew a bit frantic after the first few taps on the gas, and was soon revving the engine by desperately stomping on the gas. When he left off briefly to adjust the wheel in a different, perhaps more straight direction, the whole Camaro when surging forward into the gulley, coming to rest with a large, but softened _thud_ , thanks to the snow.

“FUCK!” Billy cursed, “Fuck me!”

Turning the car off, Billy reached in the glove compartment and grabbed his wallet, as well as a spare scarf Susan had given him a couple weeks back, when the temperatures really began to drop.

“You have to wear this, Billy,” she had said, “You’ll catch a cold if you don’t.” Billy had uttered his thanks and thrown it in his glove compartment, which he realized now should _really_ have gloves in it, and hadn’t thought of the scarf since. 

Billy wondered if he should get out of the car and walk the rest of the way, or at least try to find someone to either give him a ride home or help him tow his car out of the snow. After a moment of mulling over the best thing to do, given the temperature, which had to have been below 20℉, was rapidly dropping as sunset drew closer, Billy decided to get out of the Camaro.

Trudging up the side of the road, Billy tucked his hands in his pockets, cursing Hawkins, Indiana for being the worst place to live, and came face to face with the headlights of none other than Steve Harrington’s BMW.


End file.
